


can it be you and me, and this christmas tree

by hooksandheroics



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Rebellion Gossip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 08:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13244082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: Cassian is stressed about all the mistletoe, and the gift-giving, and the holidays in general. Jyn Erso is not helping.





	can it be you and me, and this christmas tree

**Author's Note:**

> I know. I know. It's probably too late to post a mistletoe fic because Christmas has come and gone but I just wanted to finish this. I started this around the 23rd and thought I can finish it on or before the 25th, but I was oh so terribly wrong. 
> 
> Anyway, here it is. Have some stressed Cassian. Let me know what you think in the comments section!

For the record, it wasn’t Cassian who noticed it first. It was Kaytoo. That morning, he failed to wake to his chrono beeping for the last fifteen minutes, bolted upright when he heard loud banging, and heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the mechanical whirring just outside his door. In his defense, he got home from a late mission, his body had not yet adjusted to the time, and the hyperspace lanes were bumpy. His boots, the one pair he favored out of the two that he has, had given up on him entirely during his last mission. (Also, Jyn was nowhere to be found when he landed… not that that mattered much. She landed a good five minutes after he knocked out on his bed, opted to sleep in her own quarters. The _Force_ hates him.)

His first words when Cassian opened the door to his quarters were, “What are you doing?”

Which, of course, his droid has never felt the need for cryptic words and all, so he was confused as to why _now_. Quite baffled, as well. Disturbed, for sure.

“I’m… opening the door to you,” Cassian had replied, slowly. In his defense, he had _just_ gotten up from bed, still fighting a yawn, and a heart attack. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he said, with as much a scoff as a droid can do. “I meant this, Cassian.”

And he pointed up to an ugly branch of green hanging by the threshold of his quarters by a string. It looked sad and dying, a deep green that he’s never seen around Hoth. It’s a shock of color amidst the grey and white of his door.

“What is that?”

“A mistletoe.”

“A – what?”

And it isn’t until he’s walking around base (after plucking the offensive thing from his doorway) that he notices that these things are _everywhere_. Hanging, not just on thresholds, but on strategic places as well – and when he discovered just _why_ , he can’t help the indignant sound that came out of his throat.

“Kissing!” Chirrut exclaims after a gulp of his morning caf. He’s smiling at his general direction, his expression dazed with happiness that’s akin to the film of festive joy that has surrounded the whole base. “It’s the holidays, captain. Have some spirit.”

Baze grunts beside him, and Bodhi is hiding a smile behind his own cup.

It’s still a little too early for the base’s residents to all be fully awake so he’s not certain why his crew is already up and festive. “Hoth has no holidays,” he murmurs at nobody in particular.

The small offending things are all around the base and he _doesn’t_ want to go kissing every person who happens to pass under it with him. He’s sure none of these people also want – okay, Kes Dameron just gave Luke Skywalker a friendly peck under the threshold to the training chambers. People are ridiculous.

“The princess thinks it would be good for morale to bring an Alderaanian holiday to Hoth,” says Bodhi quietly, mostly to himself, eyeing the doorways. “Makes people look forward to happy things.”

“It’s not just kissing, captain,” Chirrut chimes in again. “It’s giving gifts and being thankful for things. Aren’t you thankful for things?”

Right as Chirrut finishes his caf, still giving Cassian that expectant expression, Jyn appears at his side, plopping down on the seat next to him.

She looks like she just came from an early morning training session, the scent of sweat and _Jyn_ invading his senses and suddenly, for a moment, his mind blanks out as it plays an image of him and Jyn under a doorway, leaning in so close – he shakes these thoughts away, and scowls even more. “What’s going on?” she asks, bumping her knee with his under the table. She must have noticed his affronted expression.

Chirrut, thankfully, has his mouth shut, as Cassian explains with a very profound, “Nothing.”

He stabs his protein bar with far more force than necessary. He is _not_ kissing people for this stupid holiday.

*

Of course, when he verbally declared his adamant refusal to kiss anybody, he did not count the possibility that Jyn would take it upon herself to make sure he _does_.

The facts are these: he was blissfully unaware of the rumors going around the base, makes it a habit to avoid them actually. His business was, is, and has always been uninteresting to the public and he, in turn, is uninterested about the business of the public. Works better that way – up until, of course, the Battle of Scarif.

There were months of recuperation, rehabilitation, and reorienting. For his part, it was the use of his legs, for Jyn, it was the whole Rebellion, and who better to show her around than the friend (he’d like to think he’s her friend) who knows his way around. So it was him.

So what if they spent hours and hours together during those months? He was on medical leave, much to his irritation, for far too long, and Jyn’s company has never been unwanted.

So what if he likes it when she juts out her bottom lip in a _non-pout_ when they’re arguing? So what if he doesn’t mind that she steals sips from his caf whenever she can, or that she slips sweets in his pockets when he’s not looking?

He doesn’t mind, she doesn’t _look_ like she minds.

And if it meant they leaned towards each other more, or that they share a silent look across the table at their friends’ antics, then what is it to the rest of the base?

Apparently: a source of gossip.

And so, when Jyn decided to make it her mission to follow him around base to make sure he’s adhering to the rules, it didn’t help.

He’s in the dark communications room when he hears it. He has always known how the shadows ate his presence and makes him practically invisible in the dark, he didn’t know it would be this useful against his own people.

There’s a clack of headsets settling down on the panels, and then: “They’re at it again.”

“Who?” asks the second private.

“Andor and Erso.”

“Oh, yes. I saw them together too. Thought they broke up.”

 _Broke up?_ He catches himself before he makes a disgruntled noise. He and Jyn – they were never in a relationship. Relationships are for people like Kes and Shara, people who get along and are always together and do things together and know each other well. It’s not like he and Jyn are… oh.

“No they didn’t,” says the other young private. There’s a swivel of a chair and a much quieter addition. “Did you bump your head on the way here? They have never been closer. The other day, I saw her waiting outside the briefing room for nearly two hours.”

“Yeah, and today, she’s following him around the base all holiday spirit and all.”

“Speaking of holiday spirit,” the tone has become increasingly teasing. “Did you kiss anyone good today?”

“Unfortunately, no. But I got a friendly hug from a Wookiee. She didn’t really want to kiss me either, so.”

Cassian tunes the privates out and exits as fast as he could, still thinking about the assumption that he and – does everybody think that, too? Why does nobody ever tell him anything? And Jyn has been nothing but persistent that he follows the rules of the _holiday_ , when all he wanted was to catch her – no, that’s not what he wanted. (Not if in every threshold, she steps back and waits for him to catch someone else. Like she’s not included in the game if it concerns him. It’s just… not very encouraging.)

And then, by a stroke of luck, like the Force hates him with all its might, he bumps into Han Solo and the Princess on his way to the mess hall. But more importantly, Han Solo and him, under that kriffing –

He hears Leia giggle and then mask it behind a dignified cough.

When he looks up, it’s to a smug smirk on the smuggler’s face. He scowls.

“Oh come on, captain spook,” he taunts. “Don’t tell me you haven’t chanced upon anyone yet.”

“No,” he mutters under his breath.

“Well, then, call it your lucky day,” Han says. “I get to be your first. And you know what they say about your first –

“I’m with him on this one, Captain,” the princess chimes in, and oh _Force_. He’s still undecided whether to hate the princess for putting him in this situation or –

Before he can do or say anything about it, Han Solo is leaning down and planting a peck on his lips. He will pretend he didn’t give an undignified squeak of protest and surprise, and he will pretend he did not _just_ feel Han Solo pinch him in the ass before walking away with the Princess.

It has to be the most embarrassing moment of his adult life.

And when he turns around to go the other way and _avoid_ doorways, he sees Jyn at the far side of the hall, eyes alight with teasing and mirth. His heart might have skipped a beat, but his scowl stays.

*

He kisses three more people that day despite doing his absolute best to avoid going through doorways.

He has kissed Bodhi, and he blushed to the tip of his ears before clapping Cassian on the back and giving him a shy smile, and then gets ushered away by Baze. A hard peck with Wedge who seemed to have made it his pact to go through doors with every human male he’s ever expressed attraction to. And then one with a starry-eyed young private just as her friends cheered on the other side.

(Cassian is pretty sure there’s some kind of rule being broken here.)

(He almost ran into Draven after lunchtime and turned the other way so fast he might have broken the sound barrier.)

When he comes back from that last one, it was to Jyn and the princess sitting at their table. Some time ago, it would have puzzled him to find Jyn and Princess Leia chatting in the mess, but it was also not exactly a surprising thing that they would get along so well. Their mutual disdain for one Han Solo is a common ground.

Jyn bumps him with her shoulder with a grin. “You’re feeling generous today, aren’t you?”

And it’s when he really looks that he notices that there’s a sparkle in her eyes that hasn’t always been there. It’s rare, and it makes him smile. “I will not dignify that with an answer.”

Jyn bumps him again. If he notices that it brought her closer to him, he doesn’t say it out loud in fear that she would move away. “How many puppy-eyed new recruits have _chanced_ upon you?”

He snorts, looking down at his food. “That’s classified.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It is, if I say so.” He’s calm as he says it, but he revels in the air of playful argument between them. Always.

The months off after Scarif lent him time to figure out their ground – not that it was addressed verbally, that has never been _them_ – and figure out what makes her tick, what makes her smile, what makes her duck her head in embarrassment, but not without a blush and a tiny smile. He’s accepted shortly after the first day he woke up in medical to look down at his chest to find their hands tightly clasped together, that she has a hold of him, body and soul. Long after he has thought he has neither to give her.

She opens her mouth to retort, but then closes it and settles on a smile. And Jyn is smiling this challenging smile – a bit disbelieving, and a bit amused that he’s snarking back, and he’s helpless against the magnetic pull around her orbit.

Leia clears her throat, sensing her presence forgotten. “Oh well, we were just talking about Jyn’s mistletoe kisses today,” the princess says, not without a pointed look at his direction. _Does everybody just assume -- ?_

“Your brother is not a bad one –

“Euch, Jyn!”

“Well, we were talking about it, weren’t we?” she says breezily.

Cassian almost chokes.

A sharp pang of jealousy gets him in the chest and – Luke Skywalker is not a competition. Sure, he decimated the Death Star, he’s the hero of the Rebellion, and he’s a damn good pilot but – for sure, he’s not Jyn’s type. Not that Jyn’s type would matter to Cassian. That’s her business. Except that maybe she likes the hero types. The bright types. Not a lingering shadow like him.

He shakes his head to clear it before any of them notices.

When Cassian thought the subject of _kissing_ was over, just as he was going to dig into his slightly more festive protein bar, Leia nudges Jyn with an unsubtle force that puts a pout on her lips. “So I heard a certain captain is trying to catch you under the mistletoe…”

Cassian almost protested. _He’s not_ –

“…one Captain Mertha,” Leia continues, a saucy wink towards Jyn as she pulls her frown even deeper. “He’s been asking around for you all morning.”

_Captain Donell Ybs Mertha, native to Alderaan, thirty standard years of age, Quarters 13-214-1119, specializes on ancient combat techniques. Quick on his feet, even quicker with knives and blades._

_Maybe_ that’s Jyn’s type.

“Well,” Jyn says, and he can’t help but note the carefulness in her tone. It’s small, but it’s there. “If he wanted to, he can just ask.”

If Cassian’s stomach dropped, no one would know. He has his impressive spy-face on, anyway.

*

He clutches the tiny thing tightly in his uninjured hand as he walks down the halls of Echo base, steering clear from people and going straight to his quarters.

The mistletoe thing is still going on, much to his dismay, after his return from a just-slightly-less-cold planet for a supply run. It was just him and Kaytoo, a couple of boxes of X-wing parts and _this tiny thing_ that caught his eye in the market as his droid lumbered on ahead of him.

It’s a quaint little blade, maybe as long as his index finger, not even wider than it, but sharp and shiny and probably used laced with poison for discreet assassination attempts. At least, that’s what he would use it with. And all he could think of is how Jyn would light up when she sees it.

He bought it (all overpriced, even with his excellent haggling skills) and brought it back to base in hopes of convincing the quartermaster to spare him some flimsies to wrap it with. He didn’t count on it slashing his palm just as he was fumbling for it in his satchel.

So now, he has the tiny blade, some flimsies, and a roll of gauze to bring back to his quarters, all while Chirrut’s words slide around in his head – _kisses and presents_. He has failed on the kissing part (and will continue to deliberately fail, for his sanity’s sake), maybe he can make good on the presents.

What he didn’t put into consideration was Jyn (despite being all that he seems to think about in the duration of his short trip). Specifically, Jyn dozing off on his bed, limbs spread all over his sheets, dangling off the edge facedown and snoring softly. He takes a moment to appreciate this, despite having seen this scene a million times over.

Not that it’s a secret to the whole Rebellion that she sometimes sleeps over next to him. He’d like to think the worst of her nightmares have passed, and he’d like a little selfishness to himself and think he’s had a bit to do with it.

He carefully sets the blade in his drawer, all too aware that Jyn might find it if she would go snooping around, and promptly forgets about his bleeding hand. He kneels down next to the bed and lays a gentle (non-bleeding) hand between her shoulder blades.

“Hey, Jyn,” he says, soft.

Her eyes, endless gold and green, flutter open and she gives him a small, breathtaking smile. Somehow, his world jars a little bit, and his heart gives a funny thump in his chest. He gives her a smile in return.

“You’re back,” she rasps, voice scratchy from disuse. She rolls over to her back, starts to stretch and he averts his eyes. “Sorry, I had a long day training a new platoon of recruits. Totally passed out the moment I turned in.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, only just noticing that his hand has taken to her shoulder, thumb rubbing absent circles on her shirt. “You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

She grumbles something under her breath, lost under his blankets, and he chuckles.

“What is that?”

“I said the Rebellion doesn’t know that.”

“What do you mean?”

She snorts and turns so that she’s lying on her side, facing him. The blankets pool around her, almost threatening to drown her, but she has a determined glint in her eyes. “They think I’m stealing you away from the cause. The way they talk about us behind our backs.”

“Never thought you minded at all what they say.”

She pouts. “I don’t.”

He somehow doesn’t believe it. “Jyn, what’s bothering you?”

She bites her lip and looks away. He longs to smooth the wrinkle between her brows with his thumb, but he catches himself.

“Some lieutenant from the mess hall today said you’ve gone soft,” she whispers into the cold room. Not at all towards him, but towards something else entirely. “Said you don’t work the same way. She didn’t really say anything about me, but she looked at me and…”

“Jyn,” he says, stopping her from spiraling. “It’s true.”

He ignores the hurt that flashes in her eyes and powers through. She needs to hear this. Again.

“I work differently now,” he admits. “I always tell you I know nothing else but this war. There was no endgame for me. I knew I was going to die this way. You made me rethink that.”

She’s looking at him now. He gives her a small smile and is rewarded with a quirk of her lips.

“This is home now,” he says, finally. _You’re my home now_.

He lifts a hand to caress her cheek, but she catches his wrist. A cold shiver of fear runs down his spine – _he’s miscalculated badly_. But then she turns his hand over and says, “You’re bleeding”, and he suddenly remembers.

“Oh, yeah I – it was nothing.”

She sits up suddenly, her hair sticking up from where she was lying on his pillow, her eyes alight with concern as she gingerly takes his hand with both of hers.

“That looks pretty deep,” she says, fingers caressing his palm. “What happened?”

He purses his lips, ignores the zinging of his nerves everywhere she touches. “It was an accident. I was trying to get my knife from my satchel and it slashed me.”

She hums, shakes her head, and snatches the gauze from the floor. She gets up from the bed (he only notices her in her sleeping garments _because_ she walked past him, not that it’s the first thing he notices because he’s seen her in lesser before) and rummages through his closet for the first aid kit she knows he stashes there. It looks so domestic, like a future he never even thought he’d get the luxury to imagine, her knowing her way around his living space, no matter how meager it is.

“Sit on the bed, klutz,” she says, her back to him. “You’ll freeze on the floor.”

Cassian obeys, watches when she sees what she was looking for. Jyn sits on the edge of the mattress next to him and closes her fingers around the wrist of his injured hand. He cannot even focus on what she’s doing or if she’s doing it right, he just likes the concentrated look on her face.

He doesn’t even notice that she’s done until she’s looking up at him and he suddenly feels his chest tighten at just how close they are. Maybe it was him leaning towards her, or it was her head bent to see better, but somehow it brought them closer.

He sees her pupils dilate, her lips part, but before he can speak the door to his quarters slide open and a huge imposing Imperial droid blocks the light from the hallway.

“There you are, Cassian,” and then with a smidge of disdain, Kay adds, “and Jyn.”

“Kay, what are you doing here?”

“Chirrut Imwe commanded me to fetch you from your quarters. He said _the festivities have begun_. I don’t know what he meant, there was no significant reason as of late for _festivities_.”

Jyn has leant away from him, but he still catches her eye roll. “He means the celebration of the Winter Solstice.”

Kay whirrs in what can only be called irritation. “Hoth has _four_ winter solstices, and today is not one of them.”

Cassian sighs. “On Alderaan. Today would have been the Winter Solstice.”

Jyn looks up at him with a sheepish smile. “We should go,” she says quietly. “Boost the morale and all, right?”

He nods. “Right.” And then to Kaytoo, “we’ll be there in ten minutes. Thank you, Kay.”

The droid trudges away and his door closes once more, enveloping them in the natural dimness of his room. He watches her chew her lip in contemplation, and then get up to retrieve her day clothes from the bottom of his closet and walk to the ‘fresher.

When she gets out he’s already wrapped the present and put it back in his drawer. He’s not proud of his work, but it will do.

She’s halfway out the door when she turns to him with a questioning look. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Yeah, just – go on ahead, I’ll just change.”

“Alright,” she shoots him a tiny smile. “See you there.”

*

When he gets there five minutes later, he’s already getting flagged by his team, all of them varying levels of inebriated. Bodhi looks the most drunk, and Jyn, having just arrived as well, looked the least. The whole mess looks like it’s on its way to Bodhi’s level. He smiles at them and walks over, (avoiding a couple of pilots making out under a sprig of green dangling from a _kriffing pole_ situated in the middle of the mess) sitting next to Bodhi. It is just then that he notices just how _covered_ he is in warm scarves and new gloves and a brightly colored hat – all knitted.

Cassian takes a second to take this all in before looking at Baze.

It’s Chirrut who answers his questioning gaze. “Baze had a lot of extra time and a box of yarn gifted by Jyn a few days ago. He does look very warm, doesn’t he, my dear?” he asks to Baze, who just grunts.

Bodhi leans towards Cassian and giggles quietly. “I love this holiday,” he murmurs, looking up at him with eyes glazed over by whatever spiked drink he’s currently nursing.

Jyn chuckles from across him.

Cassian pats his knitted head like he would a loth-cat and nods, giving him a smile. He pushes the almost empty cup of his drink towards him.

“Here, captain! Catch up!”

He takes a whiff of the drink and grimaces, watching Jyn hide her grin in her cup.

“You heard him,” she says. “Catch up.”

He takes a hearty swig and pushes the cup back to his drunk friend. “Thank you, Bodhi.”

Just then, Chirrut perks up and gestures at the whole table with his staff. They all turn to him and he smiles, sightless eyes roaming at their faces like he has something sinister to reveal. This would be funny if Cassian wasn’t secretly afraid of his observations.

“It seems that the Force has given us this opportunity to examine all the things we are grateful for,” he says.

“The Force, more like Leia Organa,” Jyn mumbles. He doesn’t quite laugh as it would be rude during Chirrut’s tiny speech, but he almost gets there.

“I will go first,” Chirrut continues. “I am grateful for the Force.”

They all try to suppress their groans. He barrels on. “Grateful for the Force bringing us together. For building a family out of destined souls. And of course, for making Baze as quiet as he is so that I can talk as much as I want.”

Baze grimaces in offense, but they all know it’s not real. When Cassian glances over to Jyn, her eyes are trained on the two monks with a different look in her eyes, but after a moment it’s gone.

Chirrut makes them go around and say what they’re grateful for, and it takes all of Cassian’s strength not to just abruptly stand up and leave. He gives a general, mostly impersonal speech and downs a huge swig from a cup that has magically appeared in front of him. Bodhi makes a hilariously drunken speech and proceeds to go around and give them all a loose hug.

Despite himself, and maybe because of the spiked drink, he feels a little light and carefree. If he starts smiling a little at their married friends recounting the best presents they have ever given each other, it’s neither here nor there.

All the while, he thumbs his present in his pocket, his heart thumping wildly in his chest whenever he remembers that he has to give it to her at one point tonight.

Bodhi stumbles up and away from their table, cup sloshing dangerously in his hand as he hastily gives them all a salute. He disappears into the gaggle of pilots across the mess.

It isn’t long until the monks decide to turn in for the night, with Chirrut practically dragging Baze by the collar in the middle of him raising his cup to his mouth. It isn’t long until it’s just him and Jyn and he should probably take this small window of opportunity to give his present – but Captain Mertha is approaching and taking the seat next to her with a huge, bright, warm grin, completely ignoring Cassian and his gift-dilemma.

“Ybs,” Jyn says, and Cassian’s stomach drops again – they’re on first name basis. It’s a very unpleasant feeling.

“Jyn,” Captain Mertha replies with a nod of his head, and then as if just noticing Cassian, goes, “Captain Andor.”

“And you’re invading my space because?” asks Jyn, giving the other captain a cold stare.

“I have something for you,” he says, grin still there, confident and radiant. And then he fishes out a small box.

A sharp pang of clear jealousy gets him in the chest as he watches Captain Mertha open the box to reveal a shining stone the size of a fingernail – the size of the kyber crystal around Jyn’s neck, he think darkly – strung by a chain, sitting in the padded box. It looks elegant, expensive. He can’t help gripping the tiny little thing in his pocket in self-conscious guilt. He could have gotten her something prettier. Something less deadly, less of a reminder of the grim Galaxy.

He watches as Jyn takes the box from him, and then without preamble, grabs Cassian by the elbow to make a hasty escape. It would be funny if she isn’t jogging like a frenzied tauntaun, or if they weren’t getting deeper into the base to where he thinks they store cleaning materials in dark rooms.

“Jyn?” he asks, half protest.

“Shut up,” she replies, breathless. It halts all his next words until she pushes him into a dark room and flicks open the light.

It is cramped with shelves taller than him, smells vaguely of the medbay, and he thinks he hears vermin in the walls.

“What’s going on, Jyn?” he asks, a little bit alarmed. He trusts Jyn to never put him in harm’s way, but he doesn’t trust her to never give him a little scare every now and then. This is definitely one of those times because when she turns towards him, her brows are knitted, her mouth pulled down in a determined frown.

He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. It hasn’t been an hour since they last talked. He must have said something wrong. Or it could just be Jyn being Jyn.

She turns back around and strains to reach a huge brown box from a high shelf. When she succeeds, she pushes it to his chest.

It’s heavy.

“What is this?”

She shrugs. “Kaytoo mentioned you had to go through the last half of your mission with tape around your boots.”

He is still disbelieving when he opens it and finds a good pair of boots – maybe not new, but definitely well maintained. It doesn’t look anywhere near special, doesn’t look elegant nor imposing, just plain regular boots and he… loves it.

When he looks up at her, she’s chewing her bottom lip anxiously. He wants to put his thumb on her chin and pull that lip away, to kiss her immediately afterwards, but he restrains himself. Instead, he gives her a smile, an unrestrained one. This one, he can’t contain.

“I couldn’t find one that looked exactly like the ones you had,” she barrels on, seemingly trying to dissipate the air of awkwardness. “I know you like those ones best so I tried to find the right shade of brown, but they only had a pair of your size in really purple ones and _those_ , and –

“These are my new favorite,” he says simply.

She is silent for a few seconds. And then she ducks her head and blushes. He loves seeing her blush.

Cassian couldn’t help it, he takes the few steps necessary to reach her and puts a finger under her chin to bring her eyes back to his. He drops his hand but she doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you, Jyn.”

She shakes her head with a small smile. “It’s the holidays, Cassian. We’re practically obligated to give gifts.”

He sees through that and huffs a laugh. And then he fishes out his own little present from his pocket, chest unbelievably tight. Captain Mertha has already given her the most expensive present, he doesn’t expect her to be as excited about his present; he’d settle with just her acceptance.

When he hands it to her and she takes it, their fingers brush.

“I saw that in the market and thought of you,” he says in the space between them.

The light above them flickers a bit.

She sees the small blade, almost the size of a keychain, but the light gleams in its surface.

“You liar,” she says, almost breathless, and his heart seizes. She looks up at him with a disapproving stare. She hastily takes his injured hand and holds it up to his face. “You didn’t slip, you cut yourself in this, didn’t you?”

“I… I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I know it’s not as elegant as Captain Mertha’s. It’s just something I found, and I had to haggle a bit.”

She exhales and pulls him even closer by that hand, places it against her cheek. His breathing quickens, shallows, at the spontaneity of it all. He can’t feel much of her skin, only just by the tips of his fingers where the gauze doesn’t cover his hand, but nevertheless. It’s Jyn with her own hand trapping his own, and she’s letting him in.

“Thank you, Cassian,” she says, his fingers twitch against her cheek and her eyelids flutter. She is so beautiful. “But you have to stop with the jealousy.”

He almost pulls away. “I’m – I don’t –

She shoots him a knowing smirk and places her hands at his waist, pulling him closer. He almost jumps at the feeling of heat against his clothed skin, but he remains unmoving, afraid to break the proximity. He doesn’t know where she’s getting at because the look in her eyes render his mind blank. “You completely froze up when Ybs sat at our table,” she says in a whisper.

“I just didn’t want to intrude.” His voice has matched her volume.

“ _He_ was intruding.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry,” he says again, but smiles.

“You’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” she asks, and he loses his mind for a bit when her fingers clench at his sides, bunching his shirt in her fists.

“I might be,” he rasps.

“Yes, and you…”

“Me?”

“You’re standing under a mistletoe.”

It’s true, he discovers when he looks up. And then he’s looking down, down at her eyes, dark and trained on his lips. Hers are parted, and she’s wetting them – and he’s going to lose his mind for all of eternity if she keeps looking at him like that. Like she wants him.

“Who put that there?” he asks because he’s an idiot.

She scoffs and pulls him down in exasperation, lips against his, and all he could do is close his eyes and stand there like an inexperienced teenager. And then he drops his box and gathers her at the waist, pulling her closer, tasting her better, trying to hear again that one noise she made in the back of her throat when their lips met.

Suddenly, her fingers are in his hair and he’s groaning against her mouth. Suddenly, his back is against the door and she has one hand under his tucked out shirt. Suddenly, all of the Galaxy is Jyn Erso and there was nothing else that mattered.

Something in him clicks into place, his world aligns and refocuses and then narrows down to _now_ , when she’s pulling away but not that far, not where she can’t lean their foreheads together. He finds himself panting, heated even in the cold of Hoth, and with his hands at her waist, skimming skin and feeling her shiver against him.

She laughs quietly. “I’ve been wanting to do that since… a long time ago.”

“Me too.”

She frowns and thumps his chest, not enough to hurt but enough to break the spell. “Then why didn’t you? Those kriffing things are everywhere and you avoided me like the Sanethurian plague!”

He catches her fists in his hands and shakes his head. “Because I thought… you don’t see me that way.”

“In what way?”

“Like this,” he answers. He’s still reeling from their kiss, but he sees the apprehension in her eyes and his heart could not be happier.

“Well I do.”

He smiles. “Good.”

She kisses him once more in that supply closet, and once in the almost empty hallways back to his quarters, his brave and mischievous Jyn, as he punches in his code, probably to distract him or get them caught. But they don’t get caught.

Not until the next morning at breakfast when Chirrut casts a knowing glance in their general direction and booms, “The holiday spirit has done its work, thank the Force!”

Bodhi, probably nursing a hangover, perks up from his slumped form and looks around the table. “What does he mean?”

Baze grunts. “He means the people are happy,” he replies for Chirrut, but his eyes are on Jyn and Cassian as well.

Bodhi groans, doesn’t seem to notice the meaning at all, and slumps his head on the table again. “I’m not,” came his muffled reply.

Jyn reaches out a hand to pat the pilot’s head, an indulgent smile on her lips. All the while, holding Cassian’s under the table.

It’s all he ever wanted.

 

**Author's Note:**

> gimme a kudos or a comment, if you feel so inclined
> 
> hit me up on [tumblr](http://hooksandheroics.tumblr.com)


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